Taking the Plunge
by windscryer
Summary: Steve and Tony have to contend with a rainy New York day on their way to one of the most important meetings of their lives. Then comes the hard part: contending with Tony's fears. [Steve/Tony]


"Steve! Steve, wait— WHOA!"

Steve laughed—the ass—and swung Tony around, catching him when he would have slipped and fallen flat in a puddle big enough to probably qualify for pond status.

"Careful," he murmured and bent to brush a kiss against Tony's lips and ruining Tony's plans. He'd meant to pull himself up from the dip Steve was holding him in, drawing stares and giggles from passersby. Normally Tony didn't mind making a scene, but, okay he'd didn't exactly mind now either, but Steve's lips were really soft and… wait, no. He was off track. He was supposed to be mad, dammit.

And standing up again. Right.

He wrapped his hands around the back of Steve's neck and shoulders and made to pull himself up, but Steve—still an ass—just bent lower in response, holding Tony perfectly steady, no less, and deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between Tony's lips and tangling it with Tony's. Which effectively cut off the protest Tony had been preparing and reduced it to a low groan.

Just when Tony resigned himself to having to wait for Steve's strength to give out—or for himself to pass out from lack of oxygen—Steve pulled back and swung Tony up and around, placing him back on his feet.

Tony swayed a little as his head spun and he had to blink away the wash of dark from rising too fast.

Steve pecked at his lips again, then tangled his fingers in Tony's and said, "Come on. We're going to be late."

Cheeky. Little. Ass.

Tony had little choice but to follow, though, being towed along as he was and not quite capable of higher level thinking yet.

He would truly be a genius if he came up with a way to shield against the EMP effect Steve's kisses had on his brain.

Then again, Steve and kisses and, you know, maybe that was one of the stupidest ideas he'd ever had. Scratch that.

He mentally balled the idea up and threw it over his shoulder for a three-pointer into the trash—then promptly walked into Steve's outstretched arm. Any higher and it would have been a clothesline and Tony knew from experience that running into Steve's arm at neck height was a very painful mistake to make.

Steve leaned forward enough to peer upward at the cloudy grey skies liberally drizzling the city in rain, then rocked back and said, "We'll have to make a run for it."

"You know, this is why cars were invented. I know that's after your time—"

"Cars were not after my time, Tony, I drove several trucks and a motorcycle in the Army in Europe."

"—but," Tony continued, ignoring the interruption, "you're the one who keeps telling me that you're adapting so well to modern times, so allow me to point out that you're a liar and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I think this revokes your right to wear the spangly tights."

Steve just gave him a wry grin, shamelessly invaded Tony's space to steal another kiss, and said, "Ready?"

"No," Tony said. "I am not— Steve!"

And they were off.

It was a flashback to 1985 and the glory of 8-bit video games, dodging and ducking from awning to awning, street vendor's umbrella to tree. Tony's brain helpfully supplied the sounds, pinging and clinking, because the traitorous thing liked Steve, had been taken in by his charm and his smile and his incredible ass, and, really that wasn't fair at all.

They stopped under a long awning that ran the length of the building for a good fifty feet or so and Steve laughed and slicked a hand back over his head, messing up his perfect hair—HA!—and flinging droplets all over the otherwise dry wall of the building behind him. He laughed and pressed in, a hand on Tony's waist pulling to keep him from escaping, and the other still holding his hand, fingers laced together. Steve's skin was wet, the rain they couldn't dodge no matter how fast they ran dotting his cheeks and dripping from his eyelashes and a stubborn lock of hair that had flipped back down over his forehead.

Tony only gave into the kiss because he didn't want to look like a dork who didn't know what he was doing. It wasn't the fact that he wanted to lick the cold rain from warm lips or feel the soft puff of Steve's breath on his chilled cheeks or because the big idiot was a veritable furnace heater in the chilly afternoon storm.

He had an image to maintain, that was all.

Steve bumped his nose against Tony's cheek and rested his forehead against Tony's and stared into his eyes from so close that they were both cross-eyed trying to see the other and he smiled, toothy and perfect and sweet.

"Oh for God's sake," Tony said, and cupped the back of Steve's neck, taking his turn to initiate the kiss.

He didn't play anything but hardball though, so he left the little brushes and pecks behind, plundering Steve's mouth, licking back to his damn molars and tickling his palate. Steve laughed and tried to pull back, a muffled sound that was probably Tony's name getting garbled in their fused mouths and tangling tongues.

Oh, but Steve had started this, and Tony intended to win it.

Steve indulged him for another moment, then slid a hand up Tony's chest and pressed just hard enough to break free, though not going that far out of range.

"We really are going to be late," he said, apologizing.

"I'm Tony Stark and you're Captain America. I think they'll wait," Tony said, and tried to push back. Of course it didn't work because Steve could benchpress Tony. No, seriously, they'd tried it once.

"Tony," Steve laughed. He let up just enough for one more little smoochy kiss, and then turned, freeing Tony's hand so he could wrap an arm around his waist and tuck him under his shoulder.

Tony was pretty sure that Steve was the only person who could make Tony remember his shorter stature and not piss him off. Mostly, anyway.

"I know you're trying to distract me," Tony said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Steve said, glancing both ways, then hurrying out into the rain to cross the street. Tony ducked instinctively against the wet and cold, but it didn't help.

Tony squinted at him, half turning in the embrace even as they kept walking. "You know that I know you're not as innocent and apple pie as everyone thinks, right? Like, I see right through your propaganda."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Steve said again, and this time added the confused puppy eyes.

Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass.

Tony leveled a mock glare and Steve managed to hold on until Tony was about to give in and smack him one just to avoid losing the staring contest.

Of course, he might have surrendered because he looked up and said, "We're here," and darted forward to grab the door and hold it for the exiting couple ahead of them.

Tony paused at the sight of the smiling young man and woman, his arm around her waist like Steve's had been, her hand resting on what was either a soon-to-be-born baby or a badly smuggled and overinflated basketball.

The sight stopped him cold, the rain dripping down his collar forgotten, the chill flapping his long coat around his knees lost in the sudden swell of terror in his gut.

He looked up at Steve and that brilliant smile softened.

"Come on," Steve said softly, holding out a hand.

Tony looked at it, then back up at Steve.

He was bumped from behind, an angry mutter about blocking the sidewalk barely reaching his ears, and he turned to snap back, because getting in a fight with a stranger was preferable at the moment to having to go through that door.

Steve was there, though, large hand warm even through the layers of his clothes and Tony whirled to jerk free and found himself nose to nose with his husband, sympathy and, dear god, love in those blue eyes.

Tony didn't know why, he really didn't and that scared him, more than free falling from the upper stratosphere with ice caking his joints and silence from JARVIS ever could.

"Tony," Steve said, then gave up with a tiny shake of his head and a tic in his jaw.

When he kissed this time, it wasn't playful or teasing or light and easy. It wasn't even passionate and heated, a promise of things later in their bedroom, or maybe in the elevator if they couldn't quite manage that much patience. It was hard and needy and desperate, scared and worried and so full of painfully fragile hope that Tony had to break off and gasp for air for a few seconds, his hands having somehow found places on Steve's forearms, fingers digging into the corded muscle under buttery leather slick with rain.

Steve's nose bumped his own and he said, "Come with me, Tony. I promise I won't make you come back if— if you don't want to, or if it's not—" Tony cut him off, breathing warmth and love into Steve's fumbling mouth.

"We'll come back as many times as we have to. I'll buy the damn building and every office inside if that's what it takes to get this done, to make this happen for you."

The corner of Steve's mouth quirked and he said, "For us, Tony. This isn't just for me, it's for us."

And that was wrong for so many reasons, Tony wasn't built to be a father, he wasn't the right— That was like making a skyscraper out of pure gold, it was the wrong material for the wrong use and even if it looked good it would never hold up, one day—soon—it was going to crumble and fall and take everything nearby down with it.

He opened his mouth to explain this to Steve and then swallowed the words back down.

Maybe he wasn't steel, he couldn't hold anything up. But Steve… He could be. He was. Hell, he'd kept Tony from falling apart so many times already, maybe… Maybe he could do it one more time. Be the structural support Tony needed for that golden skyscrap— Okay, the metaphor was falling apart and it was really cold and wet out here and, fuck it, they'd find a way. There had to be a guide online somewhere, right? He'd get JARVIS to look it up when he got home.

"Okay," Tony said, rolling his shoulders and stiffening his spine. he nodded and said, "Let's do this."

Steve smiled and led the way up the steps, opening the door for him again and guiding him through with a hand at the small of Tony's back and he'd be offended that Steve was, like, actively trying to block his escape, but it was probably prudent, his newfound resolve aside.

There was a short hallway and they followed it down to the door on the left, opening into a homey waiting room where a smiling receptionist greeted them and asked for their names and if they had an appointment.

Tony's tongue had frozen, he was too busy trying not to turn tail and run, but Steve was on top of things, answering her questions and listening when she gave them some kind of directions.

Steve led the way back to the lushly appointed sofa and reached for Tony's jacket to hang up on the provided hooks. Tony stepped out of his reach and Steve gave him a look of understanding and— No, that was. Tony huffed and reached for Steve's jacket, stripping it off of him before the blond quite realized what was going on.

He hung it up, then slipped out of his own coat and returned to Steve to tweak his shirt and smooth a hand over his sleeves and then pull his head down to fix his hair.

There was only so much he could do when it was soaking wet and free of product—since someone refused to use anything synthetic that was also waterproof, and, no, Steve did not have a point about it smelling weird, that was just ridiculous, it smelled fine—but he restored the part at lease and squeegeed some of the water out, wiping his hands on the sofa to dry them.

"Tony!" Steve laughed.

"Hush. It's water, not grease. It'll survive. And if it doesn't they can buy a new one with what I'm paying them for this."

Steve shook his head, but let Tony finger comb and smooth down his hair, waiting patiently while he tweaked again, because the damn part wouldn't lay right and Tony wasn't going to have them thinking Steve was a slob and therefore unable to raise a child, that was just ridiculous. If Captain America wasn't fit for fatherhood they were already doomed as a species and a nation.

"Tony," Steve said finally, taking his wrists and stilling the nervous hands. "It's fine."

Tony looked up in surprise. "Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

Steve raised his eyebrows and Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll stop fussing."

"Thank you," Steve said and sat, pulling Tony down next to him.

They sat in perfectly awkward silence, the only sounds the gentle tapping of the receptionist at her computer, and it took everything he had not to pull out his phone and design a self-monitoring crib that would sense the baby's distress and rock it back to sleep before it could wake the parents.

Or, you know, something like that.

A steady, fast-paced tapping disturbed Tony's thoughts on whether there was a way to distinguish between, like, hungry and poopy cries and other kinds. He assumed there were different kinds, there had to be, right? How else did you know what to do for them?

Right. Tapping.

He looked down and saw that it was Steve's fingers drumming on his thigh and that was… odd. It was almost like Steve was nervous—not that Steve was never nervous, he'd been adorably jittery their wedding night, even though he insisted he wasn't a virgin (and in the strictest sense, yes, but Tony couldn't possibly fit into anyone's previous sexual experiences, which was kind of awesome, that he had his own cherry to pop and also completely off topic.)

Because Steve was nervous and, really, that didn't make any sense at all. None.

The whole reason they were here was Steve's relentless insistence that they were making the right choice, that they deserved to be able to have this chance, and that Tony was going to be an incredible dad (a topic they agreed to disagree on in lieu of empirical evidence.)

But that rock-solid certainty didn't jive with this display of uncertainty at all.

Steve watched the door leading into the rear of the office.

Tony watched Steve watching the door, his fingers sounded like rain on the sidewalk outside, tap-tap-tapping on his knee until Tony couldn't take it anymore and smacked his hand down on Steve's, trapping the twitchy fingers against Steve's thigh.

Steve jumped a good three inches off the couch in his surprise and whipped his head around, looking for the threat. He relaxed when he realized it was just Tony.

He looked down at their hands and Tony wrapped his fingers around Steve's and squeezed.

"Sorry," Steve said, running his free hand through his hair and messing it all up again.

Tony turned his chin with a finger and set about fixing the mess once more as Steve smiled ruefully and watched Tony from under his limp bangs. The curl was starting to come back and Tony wrapped a hank around his fingers to try and encourage it to arch like it was supposed to.

"Okay," he said finally and held up his hands, fingers outstretched. "Now just don't touch it again and you'll be fine. Ish." His head bobbed to the side. "I mean, you're always fine, you know that, but you won't look like you're the one that needs to be adopted or whatever."

Steve laughed and started to reach a hand up— seriously? and he said Tony had a short attention span—which Tony intercepted and tugged back down.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm just…" He groped for a word and Tony arched an eyebrow.

"Nervous? I can see that. What I don't understand is why . You are, like, literally the poster boy for everything that people want in a parent. Well, you married me, that's a strike against you, two if the umpire is homophobic, but everyone has to be allowed at least one mistake."

"You're not a mistake," Steve said, frowning. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Tony, without you I'd be…"

There he was groping for words again and Tony should not be this amused, but it was just too adorable.

"Do you want help with this?" Tony asked. "Or should I just sit back and watch the show." He put words to actions and leaned back against the couch, spreading his arm across the top of the back.

"No!" Steve said, then his expression softened. "I don't know what I'd be," he conceded.

"Obviously. I think that could go either way, really, offensive or flattering."

"But I'm really glad I never had to find out."

Tony stared at his husband for a long moment, then snorted and looked away. Steve's hand flipped over under his and then they were holding onto each other.

Tony looked back and Steve said, "I'm really glad you're here with me, Tony. No matter what happens, I'm glad that it's you I'm taking this chance with."

"Yeah, well," Tony said, feeling a flush rise in his cheeks like only Steve could manage to bring out. He cleared his throat and then nodded to the receptionist who was smiling and looking their way.

Steve turned and looked and she said, "You can go back now. It's the third door on the left."

"Thank you," Steve said, shooting to his feet and dragging Tony up as well. They very nearly recreated that scene under the awning, except Tony would have gone down face first and ended up with rug burns instead of a splash pattern.

Steve still caught him, though, and steadied him back onto his feet. He even stole a kiss, if much shorter than that previous time.

"Ready?" he said, and Tony was 98.79 percent sure that it was breathlessness that kept it to a near whisper and not just a desire for privacy.

Tony, much to his own surprise, actually felt it when he said, "Yeah. Let's close this deal and go celebrate our impending fatherhood. Whaddya say?"

Steve grinned, brilliant and beautiful, and nosed Tony's cheek. His fingers tightened around Tony's and he whispered, "Deal."

* * *

I don't even know. Blame musicalluna. It's almost certainly her fault. ;P


End file.
